


The Beast You've Made Of Me

by Zedrobber



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, And I mean that in a werewolf/human shaped way as well as a werewolf/werewolf one, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Blood, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, First Time, God is corrupt, Gore, Just - there's a lot of cock here okay guys, M/M, NOT non consent but due to some mating urges and context it is dubious, Other, Sex, Sorry Not Sorry, Violence, Werewolf Sex, knotting likely since this is one of my fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zedrobber/pseuds/Zedrobber
Summary: Aziraphale has been Gifted by God; a glorious wolf-like form powerful enough to destroy those of the 'Cursed' demons Hell-bent on the desecration of Earth. She sent him out to hunt.Unfortunately, Aziraphale isn't much of a hunter, which may be a good thing, considering his choice of friend.Werewolf AU - will be explicit, will have violence almost from the beginning. This is likely to get a little long! Thank you for patience in advance, I may write 5000 words in a day or not write for weeks, oops.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been the highest honour. Only the most loyal, the most beloved and obedient among the angels had been chosen. 

Aziraphale had glowed with pleasure and pride at having been one of those asked to take on the mantle; had lined up with the others, his new, corporeal body still feeling somewhat tight at the seams but quite wonderful all the same, a treasure trove of new emotions and possibilities. He had smiled in pure, rapturous joy as the Almighty took Her time in praising them, these brave and dutiful angels of Hers who, She knew, would do everything in their power to be worthy of this gift. She had explained everything so clearly. How the newly created Hell, populated by Her disobedient children - the angels who had disappointed Her, questioning the Divine Plan and all it entailed - had made a weapon. A curse, forced upon the strongest of them, that made them stronger still; bloodthirsty and savage hunters, ready to prey on the Almighty's new world and all of its creatures with mindless abandon.

Aziraphale had gasped in horror, hearing it echoed back among them all. He had fought in that terrible rebellion, had been expected to even though he had no taste for the chaos and horror of battle, not really. He had seen those he had thought of as friends choose to betray Heaven, to betray God Herself, and be cast down for their disobedience, the crack in Heaven a raw and bleeding wound.

He had no doubt that they deserved their punishment - after all, God had loved them and She would surely not punish unjustly. But...quietly, deep in his soul, there had been a part of him that had grieved terribly for them, had thought that, perhaps, there could have been another way. He had kept that thought, that secret question, tucked far, far inside himself, fearing the thought of punishment. 

He knew, of course, had been told by the Almighty with great sorrow, that those angels -  _ demons _ now, She had reminded him- were doomed to be evil, cunning, incapable of higher emotions such as love. But to make unwilling soldiers of their strongest? To seek to destroy all that God would create? Even from demons, it seemed beyond comprehension.

_ This gift,  _ God had said to them all,  _ is a tool to help you. It is strength, power, knowledge. It is a Divine transformation and will give you everything you need to hunt these cursed demons on Earth. Will you accept it? _

Oh, it had all seemed so  _ simple _ , so perfectly black and white. He had never wanted anything more. 

Of course, to decline, to reject Her gift, was unthinkable even if he had not wanted it. Her wrath would have been awesome and immediate.

Aziraphale had felt himself stand a little taller in his new body as She came towards him, the force of Her love radiating out like a soft and comforting blanket, cocooning him in warmth and light. How he wanted to make Her proud of him! 

_ Aziraphale, _ She had said, Her voice both in his mind and outside it all at once.  _ Are you prepared to use this Divine gift to battle the forces of Hell? _

_ I am, Lord. _

_ And will you smite any demon, no matter how harmless they appear? _

_ I will, Lord. _

_ This will hurt, my Aziraphale. _

He had withstood the pain - the very first physical sensation he had ever felt, which would haunt him in later years with its unfairness - with difficulty, feeling Her power wash over him, soothing his panicking mind. He couldn't help it; "hurt" had not been a word he had yet been given a personal context for, and sensation was so  _ much _ . He felt raw and exposed with it, his new body desperate to flinch away from the source of this horribly unpleasant feeling, but then it was done, leaving only a shining gold amulet in the shape of a sword hanging from a chain on his neck and the echo of his first agony. The new knowledge God would hurt him had been a shock, but She must have had good reason; there must not have been another way to transfer Her gift to him or She would have done it that way.

He had gone down to Earth full of righteous vengeance, ready to use his power on the first demonic entity he saw; ready to scourge evil from this new world. He had taken up his post proudly, standing tall as he watched over the Garden and these new and naked life forms that looked so frail and small to his eyes. 

They needed help, protection, love - and he had given away his sword to them without thought or consideration for whether it had been the right thing to do - until, of course, he had already  _ done  _ it. It had  _ felt _ right, anyway, though Aziraphale was already learning that sometimes, intent didn’t matter to God.

And then, that same  _ day, _ he had met a snake -not a snake, a demon, with a corporeal form that looked almost human in the same way as he did, pleasingly crafted even though he was all angles and lines - and he was somehow so full of wonder, curiosity and compassion and pleasure at the Earth, a strange and earnest look in those Hell-touched eyes, and Aziraphale never felt the Universe shift under his feet as his morality became shaded with grey, quietly and unobtrusively.

How could it  _ be _ ? God Herself had told him about these fallen angels, how they skulked in darkness and feared goodness and truth and love - but here was Crawly, and he seemed like he could have had as much light in him as Aziraphale. It had been a natural compulsion to shelter him from that first rain, as natural as handing over his sword to the humans; it was unknown and new - he didn't know if it could hurt the demon, if it was somehow holy or just water falling mysteriously from the heavens. Crawly had scooted under his wing with tentative gratitude, ducking his head and giving him a slow, wonderful smile that set his new heart beating faster until he worried that there was some sort of fault with it, and he knew with absolute certainty that he could not kill this one, not even for God Herself, not even if She appeared before him that very moment and ordered it. Not even if Crawly was one of the Cursed. Which he had not asked, fearing the answer.

Aziraphale had fallen at the first hurdle. 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


It was summer, 1066. Aziraphale  _ had _ been sent on an assignment to perform a few blessings and general morale-boosting miracles, considering that King Edward the Confessor’s death had started to spiral things a little out of control in England and it was looking as though there was going to be a nasty confrontation with the Normans any day now. However, he was currently far less pleasantly occupied.

“Back, fiend,” he said with as much authority as he could muster - which was rather a lot; his voice rang with Heavenly power and his eyes glowed cold blue fire. “I will not hesitate.”

_ Please don’t be Crowley, please - _ his traitorous brain pleaded, as it did every time a new Cursed One fell within his jurisdiction. He still hadn’t found it in him to ask, and he was more sure with each year that he didn’t want to know. All he could do to reduce the risk - and he found himself guilty at even this - was to not  _ hunt _ the Cursed as he had been asked, but rather to only dispose of those who found their way into his path.

His friendship with the demon - though he hesitated to call it one out loud, for fear of Heaven’s wrath - had been tentative at first; a gentle tease here, a shy smile there, a minor miracle now and again to come to each other’s aid, but over time, they had fallen into an easy and comfortable pattern, able to pick up the threads of conversations with decades between them, and to read each other almost like -

_ Do not say lovers, _ he thought fiercely, feeling his cheeks flush.  _ That will not happen and if it could happen it shouldn’t happen and anyway it won’t so - _

He pulled his thoughts back to the present, staring down the Cursed demon in front of him without fear. Humans had already begun to notice them preying upon their settlements, their children and their livestock, and had named them in as many languages as they had; werewolf, nahual, luison, loup garou, vukodlak, and a thousand more - a creature neither man nor beast, but some disturbing mix of the two, a huge wolf who walked on two legs, who had claws and teeth large enough to rip cattle apart and who disappeared with the dawn. Some legends had got it a little wrong, of course - a human that became a wolf at full moon, an oversized but otherwise ordinary looking wolf, a wolf that became human - but in general, they all came back to these demons and the lunar cycle. They were half right, the humans; Cursed demons  _ did _ transform on full moons, almost exclusively. They had no control over the process. Some would be triggered to transform in extreme situations - emotional turmoil, fear, or fury, and almost  _ always _ at the presence of an angel with the Gift - but more or less, it was absolutely not a choice, and it was agonising every time. Perhaps more chillingly, something in the process of infecting the demons with this Curse caused discorporation - or death - of their mortal body to result in permanent extinction.

This one was small for one of the Cursed, but still taller than a human, and a dusky grey-black colour like ashes and smoke. It towered over him, snarling; a twisted parody of a humanoid form with elongated limbs and digitigrade legs, the only fully wolfish aspect the head itself, ears flat back against its head and its eyes a dull, lifeless red that seemed flat and without intelligence. 

Most of them couldn’t speak. Occasionally Aziraphale had been unpleasantly surprised by one who retained a spark of intelligence, stuttering out half-formed words through a canine muzzle and jaws not designed to form language. Those were harder to kill, a shuddering chill running through him at their oddly childlike speech.

This one, though - this one was all beast, and it crouched as it prepared to spring, maw opening wide, saliva dripping from massive yellow teeth. 

“This is your last warning,” Aziraphale said, compelled to offer a chance for escape despite knowing he should not. That part of him that worried about crossing paths with Crowley was the same part that offered all Cursed a way out, just in case. 

The demon lunged at him, and knowing that he had, in fact, run out of options, Aziraphale grasped the amulet around his neck and  _ willed _ the Gift into life, feeling it flare out through his body from deep within him, white-hot and blazing with glorious and Divine light. It still hurt, just a little; more  _ uncomfortable _ than anything else, his body changing physical form all at once, bones cracking and lengthening, skull elongating, fur erupting from his skin. By rights, it should have been incredibly painful, unbearable even. Aziraphale was glad to be spared it by the Almighty. It was over in moments and he now stood far taller than the Cursed, who had stopped its attack in stunned alarm and was staring up at what could have been a negative image of itself.

Aziraphale’s gift - the Lord’s gift to Her most devoted angels, - was a form equal to that of the Cursed, only one infused with Heavenly glory. Aziraphale stood nearly eight feet tall, a shining white-blond wolf on two legs, muscular and powerful where the Cursed were lithe and skittering. His fur was glossy, almost difficult to look at directly, so radiantly it reflected the light of Heaven, a far cry from the dusty grey-black coats of the demons. He was equipped with claws and teeth fearsome enough to destroy anything that resisted his vengeance, his eyes still blue and crackling like summer lightning..

Around his neck, his amulet hung like a collar, his link to his previous form. Unlike most of the Cursed demons, Aziraphale retained his angelic consciousness and intelligence; although dulled at the edges by the animal instincts of the creature he had become, he could still reason, could still will himself back into his body at any time he chose.

He growled, a noise that was more felt than heard, a tremor shaking the earth beneath his feet. The Cursed scrambled backwards, a low whine escaping it in panic, and, steeling himself, Aziraphale struck out with his claws, bringing them crashing down onto the demon and pinning it to the ground where it squirmed, panting and afraid, its eyes rolling in their sockets and showing nothing more than mute animal alarm.

_ Not Crowley _ , Aziraphale thought, inhaling carefully. It didn’t smell like Crowley, anyway, and Aziraphale was almost certain he would recognise the scent of the demon he thought of - however privately - as his friend. 

_ More than a friend -  _ he shook himself viciously to dislodge the traitorous thought, bringing himself back to the task at hand.

This one stank of sulphur and ashes and rot.

He bared his teeth, feeling the unearthly power of his new form coursing through him, and revelling in it, every muscle alive and singing with glorious and harmonious strength. Opening his jaws, he prepared to bite the Cursed’s throat - a clean, swift end. Aziraphale could not enjoy prolonging the death of another creature, even a demon. Silently, he prayed to the Almighty that this soul would find peace, somehow. He thought to even ask might be blasphemous; he often fretted about it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself regardless.

And from behind him where it had been waiting, the other Cursed attacked.

Larger than the other, and with deep, glossy black fur, it lunged at him, scraping long, twisted claws down Aziraphale’s back and trying to find a hold for its teeth. Aziraphale snapped the pinned Cursed’s neck with one casual, almost callous twist of his arms, and turned to face this new attacker, snarling, eyes blazing with Heavenly light. His back throbbed unpleasantly, the metallic tang of blood sharp in his nostrils. It didn’t seem serious enough to worry about, but he was a little cross anyway, feeling it a direct insult to both him and to God to maim his beautiful Gift.

The new Cursed bared its teeth at him, preparing to strike once more, but Aziraphale had had  _ quite _ enough, thank you, and simply charged at the demon, his powerful muscles more than a match for the wiry strength of the Cursed. It gave way before him, sprawling to the ground, and he held it there with his claws dug painfully into its shoulders while it whimpered and scrabbled at the floor. This one, too, did not smell or look like Crowley, and so, satisfied, Aziraphale clamped his jaws around the throat of the demon and bit down. The Cursed made a last ditch bid for survival, bringing its back feet up and scoring deep wounds in Aziraphale’s belly even as his teeth crunched through sinew and bone. Aziraphale grimaced at the white-hot stripes of pain but held on grimly until the Cursed stopped twitching and died.

Finally, Aziraphale pushed himself back and sat on his haunches, clawed hands pressed to his stomach, the taste of blood in his mouth and on his fur. He took several breaths, steadying himself against the pain that always reminded him of that first shocking physical sensation. 

Miserably, he licked at his fingers and prepared himself to return back to his human-looking form. He’d need to, to be able to miracle these wounds away, but he also knew it would hurt a  _ lot _ more when he wasn’t thrumming with supernatural strength.

He smelled Crowley before he heard him, that smoky bonfire smell that was pleasant and somehow clean despite his Hellish nature.  _ No, not now, not like this. _ He wasn’t certain if he meant injured or in this form. They had never discussed Aziraphale’s Gift, though he suspected Crowley had to know. Thankfully his clothes would re-manifest with his human form, saving him from at least one embarrassment.

“Angel?”

There was an edge of bright, sharp panic to Crowley’s voice. Quickly, and preparing himself for the flare of pain, Aziraphale grabbed at his amulet and willed himself back into his body. It still wrenched a gasp of agony from him, the sudden, urgent mortality of this form always a shock. He groaned dazedly and looked at his hands, coated in blood. Everything felt distant and he understood dimly that he was losing a lot more blood than a human could reasonably be expected to deal with. He tried in vain to narrow his focus enough to heal himself before he succumbed to unconsciousness. 

“Aziraphale!”

Too late. Crowley skidded to a halt in front of him, dropping to his knees in alarm and pressing his own hands to the deep wounds, trying to find the source of the spreading crimson on Aziraphale’s tunic.

“Where is it, what’s happened?” he said, frowning. “I can’t see-”

“Stomach,” Aziraphale said weakly, thankful that Crowley was taking charge. “And back.”

“Alright, hold on angel.” His voice was thin, taut; Aziraphale looked up at him and saw only tension and fierce concentration. 

“Oh - ” he said, winded, as the wounds knitted themselves together. “Thank you, dear boy.” He took in a shuddering breath. 

“What in - what  _ happened? _ ”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, smiling and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He dusted off his tunic, frowning at the blood marring the cream wool until Crowley snapped his fingers with an indulgent sigh and cleaned it. Favouring Crowley with a bright smile, he wondered how to evade the question sufficiently and decided that, considering everything, Crowley perhaps deserved something near to the truth.

“I’m afraid I stumbled upon some of those Cursed demons,” he said, trying to look only slightly concerned. “I managed to, ah, see them off, of course, but there were two of them and -” he shrugged, flinching briefly at the memory of pain between his shoulderblades.

“You fought two of them?” Crowley asked, disbelieving. He was so close, so close that Aziraphale could touch him, could reach out with his hands and cup his cheeks - 

_ Stop that! _

“Yes,” he said instead, clearing his throat. “I am an angel, after all.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, and his expression clouded briefly with something that looked like fear before he shook himself, huffing out a breath. His eyes caught the amulet around Aziraphale’s neck, and he grimaced, taking a half-step backwards. “Ah.”

“Ah?”

“You’re one of  _ them _ ,” Crowley said, nodding to the amulet. His lips curled back from his teeth, slightly but unmistakeably, and Aziraphale felt his chest tighten. “God’s little guard dogs. That explains it.”

He looked warily at Aziraphale, head tilted to one side, eyes unreadable behind those damned glasses. 

“Explains what?” he asked, not wanting to know.

“How you took two of them out,” Crowley shrugged. “You’re more powerful than them. I’ve seen one of you in action and it was -” he shook his head, leaving it unspoken; Aziraphale was left wondering if it was  _ terrifying  _ or _ awe inspiring  _ or something else. He found that he didn’t particularly want to terrify Crowley, not even a little. “Compared to the - what did you call them? Cursed? - demons, it was  _ huge _ . Wasn’t you, though. I’d have known. This one was - sort of lilac-grey? Purple eyes. Big bugger.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted, feeling some of the heaviness leave his body. Crowley hadn’t just left him. He was still there, talking to him as though they were friends. “That would be Gabriel, I’m afraid. We are much bigger. Righteous power of God, that sort of thing.”

“Mmhm. We don’t call them cursed, you know,” Crowley said conversationally. “They are, I suppose. Not like they had a choice in becoming like that. But it’s considered a gift, all the same.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said uncomfortably. “God calls it our Gift, too.”

“I suppose though, being all Heavenly and everything, you got a choice in the matter.”

“Not as such. I mean,” he amended quickly, trying to correct himself before She heard, “It is a truly wonderful gift, a blessing - an angel would be mad to refuse it.”

“I see,” Crowley nodded. “You had about as much choice as we did, then.” He didn’t elaborate, though he looked briefly troubled.

“It’s not like that at all!” Aziraphale rushed to protest. “I’m sure if any angel had wished to refuse, it would have been -” he paused, remembering how he had known, even then, that to refuse a gift from the Lord was foolhardy. “It was an honour,” he finished, somewhat feebly.

“Sold it to you with all the pomp and ceremony of Heaven, then?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment. Crowley always left him feeling like a traitor to his side, always made him think and wonder and fret. In a way, it was one of the things he lov- _ liked  _ most about the demon, that ability to give Aziraphale freedom to question without punishment. Well, not immediate punishment, at least.

“Lunch?” Crowley asked, and the subject was closed, at least for now. Aziraphale nodded gratefully. 

“I know a perfect little place, actually. I know times are hard, what with the King’s death bringing about all of this chaos, but -”

“Ah yeah, that was my fault.”

“You killed the King?”

“What? No! That was natural causes, nothing to do with me. I  _ mean _ I just caused a little bit of a stir afterwards. Got told to, you know, by my lot. Didn’t expect all this.”

“There’s going to be a bit of a war, you know.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, glumly. “I figured as much.”

“We’ll have to find somewhere else to get lunch,” Aziraphale noted with a little petulance.

“Oh, plenty of time for that, angel. You can sniff out a new spot quicker than anything. Come on. Show me this place you were going on about….”


	3. Chapter 3

They avoided talking about Aziraphale’s Gift for quite a long time after that. Aziraphale had almost begun to think that Crowley had forgotten, and couldn’t decide if he was pleased about it or slightly hurt.

Finally, in 1744, Aziraphale had been sent to give blessings to a fleet of French ships that had some half-baked plans to invade Britain. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely  _ certain _ why they deserved blessing simply for planning an invasion, but he dutifully did so anyway, finding great amusement in the sudden and - rather fortuitous - storms that sent them packing in no uncertain terms.

“Yeah, that was me,” Crowley said, materialising out of seemingly nowhere. Aziraphale shot him a pleased half-glance. They looked out over the sea together, watching the last of the French forces limping back into what ships were still in one piece and beating a hasty retreat. “I was told to stop them.”

“Is that strictly a temptation?” Aziraphale asked, frowning.

“Oh, I was  _ told _ to tempt the sailors overboard. I don’t know what Hell wanted. Probably for me to dress up in a pair of shells and a seaweed wig and pretend to be a siren. I decided this was easier.”

“But they’ll be killed!”

“Naah. I sorted it out. Minor injuries, mostly. It’ll be reported as deaths, but they’re off living the high life on a nice tropical island. I knew you’d be all prissy about it if I killed them.”

“Ah. Well, that was very thoughtful of you.”

“Shut up.”

After a moment’s silent contemplation, Crowley sighed, stretching. “Supper, angel? It’s late.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

There was a sudden  _ shift _ in the air behind them, and both angel and demon turned as one with the hairs on the backs of their necks prickling. 

“Or not,” Crowley said.

A demon stood before them, pallid and thin with orange-red eyes, and already Aziraphale could feel the beginnings of its transformation, the Curse pulled agonisingly from its dormant state by the proximity of an angelic being, all instincts of the creature leading it to kill.

“Behind me,” Aziraphale said shortly to Crowley, and though Crowley opened his mouth to protest, he fell behind Aziraphale obediently as the Cursed continued to change, bones cracking and muzzle elongating with a sickening series of pops, creaks and an unending scream from the unfortunate demon itself. 

He urged his own Gift into life once more, feeling that familiar raw power flooding him, the discomfort forgotten in the sheer glorious strength, muscle and bone and sinew in a perfect warrior’s harmony. He felt Crowley take a step back behind him, heard his sharp intake of breath, that familiar autumn-evening scent that followed him drifting up to Aziraphale’s sensitive nostrils like a perfume. 

And something was different.

The animal part of him - the beast part, as he thought of it, though it was no separate creature but merely a facet of himself -  _ reacted  _ to the smell, viscerally and physically, lips curling back, ears flattening, and - worst of all,  _ cock _ beginning to harden. Aziraphale had been, at best, intermittently aware of his genitals so far, and never while in this form. That he  _ had _ them at all had been nothing much more than a hasty decision somewhere along the way. But there it was, hard and thick and hot and even, to his horror,  _ throbbing  _ slightly in a very distracting way, and there was still a Cursed to dispose of before he could even try to process it.

“Fuck,” he heard Crowley say from somewhere beside him, sounding slightly impressed, and he shot him a glance which he hoped conveyed irritation and a warning to stay back. It was only then that he realised that he was now over seven feet tall and his - anatomy - was in proportion. 

_ Oh, dear Lord, _ he thought in mortified despair.  _ Was this strictly necessary? _

The Cursed left him no more time to think, lunging inexpertly forward with a guttural roar, and Aziraphale readied himself for the attack, taking the impact with his massive frame and using the Cursed’s own body weight against it. The demon slammed into the grass, winded and whining pathetically under the pressure of several broken ribs, unholy orange eyes wide and fearful. It was unpractised, this one; barely even a challenge. This must have been its first time on the surface. Aziraphale felt a pang of regret that the demon had met him at all, that he had to end its life - a twisted and hollow thing that it was - so soon. Still, he had a duty, and he wasted no more time, stalking over to the Cursed on silent feet and breaking its neck cleanly, offering up his usual prayer to a God that seemed somehow increasingly absent.

The battle won, he turned to Crowley, who seemed very small and very breakable all of a sudden, though he looked up at Aziraphale with no fear whatsoever, secure in the knowledge that he would never hurt him.

Even looking at Crowley seemed to be too much for the feral part of him; he felt it stir in his mind, a strange shifting against his angelic consciousness that whispered  _ mate _ .  _ Mine. _

_ No, that’s - that’s Crowley. A demon, _ he tried to reason, unsuccessfully of course, since reasoning with oneself is difficult at best.  _ Not mate. _

_ Mate.  _ His cock was still hard, an unfamiliar and not entirely unpleasant ache that demanded an attention Aziraphale didn't know how to give. Crowley was staring at it in ill-disguised interest, and his scent -  _ God help me, _ \- his scent was overpowering, intoxicating, all consuming - fire and earth and forest, tinted at the edges with an unknown, new quality that was heady on Aziraphale’s tongue.  _ Arousal _ , he realised, finally recognising the smell from thousands of years of living close to humanity.  _ He’s - aroused? _

That was almost enough to tip Aziraphale’s self control, to allow his body to do whatever it was it wanted - what he wanted. He fought it back with an agonising, exhausting force of will, clutching at his amulet like a drowning man and returning to his human form where he collapsed onto the grass, breathing heavily, his pulse rabbit-fast and thundering in his ears.

And he was still hard.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes closed against the concerned face of Crowley looking down on him, and took in a quivering, painful breath, gritting his teeth and thinking of all of the most boring and uninspiring books he’d ever read in an attempt to rid himself of his erection. It worked.

“Don’t,” he said weakly. “Just don’t say a word.”

“That was a thing.”

“You could say that, yes.”

“Do you usually get - uh -?”

“No. Please, do stop.”

“Just curious.”

“Don’t be.” Aziraphale was absolutely not in any state to start analysing his reaction to Crowley’s scent, let alone to wonder at the demon’s own arousal. Perhaps he had been mistaken. That would be infinitely easier. “Help me up, would you, my dear?” he asked faintly.

“Oh, yeah, course.” Crowley hauled Aziraphale up from the ground awkwardly, neither of them able to make eye contact as Aziraphale brushed himself down. He could feel Crowley’s gaze burning like a brand into his back and he wished he knew what the demon was thinking. 

“Still hungry?” Crowley asked eventually, casually - too casually, but Aziraphale wasn’t about to mention it.

“Oh, yes please,” he said instead, relieved and suddenly exhausted, his limbs wobbly and weak after the transformation back. 

“I’ll pay. Considering.”

“Quite.”


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow they had made it to another century- through an Apocalypse, of all things. It hardly seemed real, this strange and tenuous ceasefire between Heaven and Hell that teetered on a knife-edge. But here it was, and here they were. In Crowley’s flat. Like it was normal.

But then, their relationship had evolved since 1744, he supposed. Over the years that followed, they had learned to relax around each other again, had spent more and more time making up excuses to see each other - a miracle here, a favour there, a temptation or two - until they simply stopped making excuses and allowed themselves to indulge in just enjoying each other’s company. Aziraphale had even begun to tentatively think that, perhaps one day, there might be an appropriate moment to acknowledge the - deeper feelings - he had been so adamantly squashing for fear of Heavenly wrath. There seemed to be fewer Cursed, these days, too; occasionally one would pop its snout out, but Aziraphale had begun to relax a little, and so they spent time drinking and eating and walking together. They had even had a spectacularly memorable picnic.

And now Aziraphale was trying to convince Crowley to take the next step.

“It’s a  _ good _ idea,” Aziraphale protested, perched on the edge of Crowley’s bed nervously, black satin sheets and black satin pillows soft under the plucking of his nervous fingertips. Crowley grumbled something incoherent and pretended to concentrate on making coffee in the kitchen. Aziraphale hadn’t even known he could make coffee. Usually he just miracled it.

“It is! They’ll never even suspect we  _ could _ do that!”

“What if we can’t?” Crowley shot back, sauntering back into the bedroom and handing Aziraphale a steaming mug of what looked suspiciously like tar before slouching on the bed beside him. "We've never tried. No one has."

“But we  _ can _ , I’m almost certain of it -”

“And if it doesn’t fool them one little bit and we both end up killed?”

“Then we’ll be just as dead as if we hadn’t tried it in the first place!”

Crowley sipped at the bitter liquid and grimaced. “Hmm. Also, don’t drink that.” He miracled the cups back into the sink with a quick gesture. “That was nasty.”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so reticent, Crowley. We just helped to stop the Apocalypse -”

“To be fair, we didn’t actually  _ help _ so much as stand there, and your giant wolf body didn't even make an appearance which might  _ actually _ have helped -"

“We helped,” Aziraphale said stubbornly. “And now we can help ourselves. We could be left alone. Forever.”

“It would never be forever, angel,” Crowley said gently. “Not to them. They’ll come for us eventually. You’re one of God’s most powerful soldiers, all that animal inside you -” Crowley stopped himself before he said something that veered dangerously close to mentioning the embarrassing time with Aziraphale’s unexpected erection, a topic they had avoided for several hundred years, more or less. “-What I'm trying to say is, you’re valuable."

“Well,” Aziraphale said crossly, folding his arms. “I hardly see how She can use me any more than She has. I've done everything She ever asked of me."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Finally, you understand. We’re all being used, angel. All of us, one way or another. It's up to us to decide how."

“I know,” Aziraphale said, his voice small and pitiful. "I've known for a while." Crowley’s heart broke a little at the disillusionment in that voice. He had seen it coming, of course; thousands of years back, had known that eventually Aziraphale would understand. But that was one thing, the knowing. The  _ seeing it? _ That was another, and far more unpleasant.

“I don’t see how we can manage this any other way,” Aziraphale went on gamely, pulling himself together with a brisk inhale and a slap of his knees. “I - I insist we at least try.”

“...fine. In the morning, then,” Crowley sighed, scowling. “But you won’t like it, angel. I can promise you that much."

“I’m sure your body is very nice!” Aziraphale protested, then went bright red. “I mean - for a demon."

"Thought about it a lot, have you?" His voice was light and teasing, the faintest tug of a smile at the edges of his mouth, and Aziraphale felt flustered without knowing quite why.

He wasn't sure how this new side of Crowley had happened; he had always swayed on the edge of flirtation, walking the tightrope while never making Aziraphale uncomfortable or asking more of him than he was ready to give. They had often walked it together, Crowley's gentle nudge answered with Aziraphale' s apologetic excuses, a careful push and pull with no resolution.

But times changed, and this was now; the Apocalypse averted and the lines between their 'sides' blurrier than ever before. Aziraphale had never felt so lost or unsure of his place in Creation...but at least he had never been alone, not really. And when Crowley had offered him a place to stay - and no, he was absolutely not able to think about his bookshop yet, the thought itself a raw wound - he had thought in a moment of delicious, giddy defiance,  _ why not? Who can stop me now?  _ Naively, he had assumed that would be the end of it. That Heaven and Hell would forget about each other and about the two of them, and maybe, just maybe, he could allow Crowley closer. 

He had been stupid to assume they would give up so easily.

"Get some rest, angel, go on," Crowley said with a sigh, flopping himself backwards onto the mattress in an inelegant sprawl.

"What, here? On the bed?”

"Unless you feel like lying on the floor, I suppose.”

"Ah."

Aziraphale lay down carefully next to him, arranging his limbs neatly and folding his hands together while he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Crowley was fast asleep and snoring gently with his whole body entwined around Aziraphale's like a snake in the time it took Aziraphale to wonder  _ how _ exactly one was supposed to sleep. 

-

“Look. Just - think about it properly. Think about being inside me -”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t think about that regularly -”

“_Crowley._ Oh. Do you? I- _stop smirking at me like that!_”

“Sorry. Try again.”

“Right. Take my hand and just try to...imagine moving across. Visualise it.”

“Right. Taking your hand. Imagining being inside you. Got it.”

“Please be sensible.”

“Sorry.”

They fell silent. Aziraphale could feel the energy beginning to crackle between them, sluggish at first but with a growing confidence as they managed to ground themselves. It pulsed between their palms, hot and new and more than a little terrifying as they struggled to control it, both of them sweating and shaking and gritting their teeth against the strangeness of it all. It took some time, both of them wrestling with it, but eventually he could feel Crowley - all of what made the demon  _ him _ , anyway - pushing and squeezing clumsily through the link towards him. He reached out gingerly with his own mind in response, feeling the tendrils of himself like smoke, slippery and insubstantial. They collided, merging and coiling into one for a long and confusing moment where he could hear Crowley’s thoughts like a far - off scream of fear, and then he had pushed through it, feeling himself settling into Crowley’s space as Crowley crashed into his. 

The moment that Aziraphale passed fully into Crowley’s body, he knew exactly why he had been so reluctant to switch, why he had tried so hard to think of any excuse to say no. 

Opening his new eyes, he took a shuddering first breath with unfamiliar lungs and stared angrily into his own pale face, etched in guilt and misery. 

Shaping words was hard, his new tongue disobedient, but he bit them out anyway, his voice jagged at the edges and caustic.

“You’re - you’re a Cursed!”


	5. Chapter 5

“Yeaah,” Crowley said, scrubbing a hand through his - Aziraphale’s - hair and feeling somewhat at a loss at the lack of length. “I -”

“Why didn’t you  _ tell _ me? How  _ could  _ you, Crowley! I thought - I thought we were friends!” There was a sick feeling in his stomach, a roiling, lurching sensation as though the ground were falling out from underneath him. Betrayal and confusion, followed instantly by so many questions that he could hardly get them in order in his brain.Tears pricked at his eyes and he blinked them back furiously.

“We are! I wanted to,” Crowley protested, teeth bared in a self effacing grimace. “I really did. But I thought if you knew, you’d -”

“What? Kill you?” Aziraphale was seething in a way he hadn’t been in his entire existence, angry all the way down to his toes to hide the very real spark of hurt that Crowley hadn’t trusted him. “You think that little of me? As if I wouldn’t be able to tell it was you before I hurt you?”

“ - stop speaking to me,” Crowley finished lamely, flushing, the colour high on his cheeks. “I didn’t think you’d hurt me, not really.”

“How did you not - I never even _ knew _ !”

“I learned to control it,” Crowley shrugged. “Mostly. Full moons still set me off, but around you? I can hold it back. I didn’t want to do it accidentally and - hurt you. Or anyone. Or, y’know. Get mauled to death by one of your buddies.”

Aziraphale was struggling to understand. It wasn’t something demons were supposed to be able to  _ control _ . It was supposed to turn them into savage, bloodthirsty animals and nothing more. It always  _ had _ , with all of the others.

“But - who turned you? When?”

“You’re not ready for that yet,” Crowley answered tersely, Aziraphale’s brows knotting together. “I mean it.”

“Crowley, I don’t  _ understand _ .”

“I’m sorry, angel. I really am. For everything. I just - it never seemed like the right moment.”

“The right moment? And this is how you wanted me to find out? In six thousand years of knowing you, you never once thought to tell me?”

“No,” Crowley said miserably. “I didn’t want that.” 

The initial anger was subsiding. Aziraphale took in a shaky breath, trying to keep himself under control, this new body highly strung and bleeding with tension. Meanwhile Crowley in his body looked so wretched that he wondered how on earth Crowley ever denied him  _ anything _ , and then remembered that he never actually did. That he’d done nothing but be a good friend for the entire time they had known each other. That he’d never pushed, never gone further than Aziraphale had been willing to go, never tried to change him. That he’d always listened to everything Aziraphale had said without judgement.

“Alright Crowley. I think perhaps you should explain. I - I’ll listen.”

“I was turned...early on,” Crowley said vaguely, averting his eyes for a moment and not elaborating. “I was just like the rest of them - angry, confused, hurt. It hurt like  _ nothing _ I’ve ever felt before. All the time. Made you angry, want to hunt, to kill, even when you weren’t in the wolf body. Itched in the back of your brain. Most of us gave into it, let it consume us until there was nothing left but the animal and the instinct. I didn’t want to be like that, to lose everything that I knew was  _ me,  _ everything I remembered before - before I fell. So I went off alone, learned to keep it all inside me no matter what provoked me. And then Hell assigned me to Eden, and I met you.”

“You were already Cursed when I met you?”

“Yeah.”

“And?” Aziraphale prompted.

“Well- you saw it from there, angel. I didn’t know if you were one of them - I assumed you might be, with a big flaming sword and a guard dog post, but I couldn’t be sure - and I had no intention of dying right there when the world had just begun, so I, uh - held it back.”

“But  _ how?  _ I didn’t think demons even -”

“It wasn’t easy,” Crowley said bitterly. “It was  _ screaming _ inside my head, tearing at the walls of my bloody brain trying to get out, howling and snarling like it wasn’t even part of me any more. It wasn’t just an urge to transform, it was a  _ need _ , and holding it back was agony - like I was being scrubbed over gravel or something, all raw and hot and jagged. But you were just - well,  _ you _ . You gave away a Heavenly sword, like it was nothing to you! Because it was the right thing to do! I’d never met anyone like you, not in all my existence, and I wanted to know you. I wanted something I couldn’t name, not back then - though my wolf half definitely knew, had more idea of the whole thing than me, instinct I suppose -”

“Yes, I know that feeling -”

“ -so I gritted my teeth and gathered up every ounce of my willpower and pretended I wasn’t on fire.”

Aziraphale sat silently for a moment. The amount of strength that would have taken was absolutely incomprehensible. For a Cursed to hold back his worst urges, to actively  _ choose _ to avoid conflict, and more, to choose curiosity and kindness and friendship as Crowley had done - it went against everything God had ever told him. It went against every single piece of information that he had so carefully stored up in his mind about those demons in order to feel good about killing them. 

If God had been  _ wrong _ about Cursed demons - and She must have been, because Crowley was still Crowley, after six thousand years - then -

_ What if She lied deliberately _ , his traitorous mind asked, and Aziraphale scrabbled to shove it back down into the recesses of his thoughts, paling.

“Are you alright, angel?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m just - thinking.”

“Anyway. You know the rest. I kept doing it and it got a little easier. Now I can mostly do it without thinking, unless I get - distracted.” 

“You went against your nature for me. So that we could be friends.”

“We-elllll.” Crowley huffed, embarrassed. “You were interesting enough to make it worth my while, weren’t you?” He sighed. “Look. I’m really sorry, Aziraphale. Honestly I am. I never meant to lie to you.”

Aziraphale let out a long, shuddering sigh, and nodded with finality. “I forgive you, my dear. We still need to talk about this,” he warned, standing up and shrugging himself into his new body properly, feeling the edges and the limits of it and finding it surprisingly pleasing. “But right now, we have more pressing matters.”

“Like?”

“Like going to the park. I want an ice cream and I suspect we’ll run into some old friends.” Aziraphale’s mouth was a thin, grim line, and Crowley looked at him with open curiosity before deciding to play along.

“You just never stop thinking about food, do you? Alright, come on then. Don’t forget my sunglasses, your eyes are a little - “

“Hellish?”

“Right. Also, it’s sunny out. Don’t want you to damage my eyes while I’m not using them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a while - I've had work, and a landlord inspection, and life in general just caught up to me I'm afraid. Thanks for sticking with me!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys, gals and nonbinary pals, please note that this chapter contains *** werewolf / werewolf sex which includes knotting.*** It gets pretty graphic, so if this is not your jam, you may wish to skip ahead or skim the sex parts. I have tagged for it in the fic tags, so hopefully this isn't going to surprise anyone, but I just wanted to make sure!

In the end, it had gone rather well, all things considered. Crowley had done a wonderful job intimidating Gabriel and the others, and Aziraphale thought he had managed to put off Hell as thoroughly as could be expected. There was an awkwardness between them now, though - now that the danger was over for the foreseeable future and the adrenaline had worn off. For a few days they had pretended everything was as it had been; lunch dates and walks in the park and even a night of drinking. But now, a week later, Aziraphale was perched in his armchair with Crowley slouched on the sofa across from him, both with a drink in hand that was completely forgotten. It should have been comfortable, friendly - _ more than friendly, perhaps _ , Aziraphale lamented. Without the danger of retribution hanging over their heads, it should have been the perfect opportunity for - well, whatever was between them - to flourish. But Crowley was staring at the floor like it had personally offended him, and Aziraphale was watching him helplessly, and it was all  _ wrong.  _

They still hadn’t talked further about the whole Cursed incident. Aziraphale wasn’t sure where to begin, in all honesty; he still felt more than a little hurt that Crowley hadn’t even thought enough of him to tell him.

“Out with it then, angel,” Crowley sighed suddenly, yellow eyes flicking up to him. “I can hear you thinking from all the way over here.”

Aziraphale thought about lying, playing dumb, asking Crowley what on Earth he meant.

“I was wondering why you won’t tell me who Cursed you,” he said instead.

“I told you, you’re not ready to hear it,” Crowley said with a little grimace. “It isn’t - my place to.”

“I rather think I’m ready for anything after these last few months,” Aziraphale countered stubbornly. “There’s nothing more you can tell me which would shock me, I assure you.”

“This would.”

Aziraphale felt his temper rise. He simply couldn’t understand why Crowley had to be like this. “Honestly, Crowley!” he said crossly. “I don’t know why you won’t tell me! I can handle it! I’m an angel, for God’s sake!”

“That - that’s why I’m not telling you,” Crowley snarled back, and he was on his feet defensively in a moment, glaring at Aziraphale. “Just trust me!”

“I did!” Aziraphale growled, actually  _ growled _ , and though he was shocked at himself, he couldn’t find it in him to stop now that he had released his emotions. “I trusted you to be my friend, Crowley! I told you  _ everything _ , every single thing, for six thousand years! I risked  _ so much _ just speaking to you, you have no idea what Heaven would have done to me if they’d known you were Cursed as well as a demon -”

“And you think I didn’t risk anything at all talking to you?” Crowley was scratching at his shoulder, eyes blown fully yellow as his concentration slipped. Aziraphale ignored the warning signs, too wrapped up in his anger. “You think that Hell would have given me a slap on the wrist or a strongly worded fucking note?”

“I think that you could have explained it away a lot more easily than I could! You know I’m supposed to kill all of the Cursed I come across! It’s my actual  _ job _ !”

“Well why don’t you just go ahead then,” Crowley sneered. “If your job is so damn important to you, here I am!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know I’d never hurt you.”

“Why, Aziraphale? Why wouldn’t you hurt me? I’m no different to any of the other Cursed!”

“Yes, you are!”

Crowley was panting now, face contorted in pain, and Aziraphale had seen enough of it over the years to know suddenly and too late that he was losing the fight against the transformation. He grasped his amulet in readiness, unwilling to be left defenceless against even Crowley when under the influence of his bestial self. 

“Why?” Crowley demanded again, jaw impossibly wide as it began to elongate into a muzzle. His voice was distorted, thick as though through treacle. 

“Because - oh  _ fuck _ , because I love you!”

Whether that was just too much for Crowley to handle, or whether it had been inevitable anyway, Aziraphale couldn’t know. Crowley bent double, screaming in pain, and Aziraphale heard the sickening crack of his bones as the transformation began in earnest, his own body aching in sympathy as he watched, remembering the pain of that very first time. It took longer than Aziraphale’s own shift did, and every moment of it looked unbearable, Crowley’s eyes rolling in fear and agony, a low, guttural howl being ripped from him long after speech fled. Eventually, it was done, and Crowley clawed his way back to his feet, towering over Aziraphale for the first time in six thousand years.

_ Oh, _ Aziraphale thought, and it was not the reaction he had imagined himself having.  _ Oh, but he’s beautiful. How is that a Curse? _

Crowley stood as tall as Aziraphale’s wolf form, well over seven feet but lean where the angel was broad. His eyes were still that street-lamp yellow that Aziraphale had grown to love, but they burned with unholy fire. His fur was as glossy as any of the Gifted, a rich black that shone like oil, iridescent like magpie wings. Aziraphale was lost, open mouthed and silent as he stared up at Crowley, trying to find him in the beast’s expression and seeing only animal hunger.

And then Crowley crouched as though ready to charge, and without conscious thought Aziraphale gripped his amulet tighter and began to transform. 

The disorientation of the shift made him off-balance for a moment, and he expected Crowley to press the advantage and attack - but when he came back to his senses enough to defend himself, Crowley was still waiting, teeth bared in a ferocious snarl that sent a primal shudder of horror through the less-animal part of Aziraphale. He blinked, uncertain as to why Crowley hadn’t used his vulnerability against him. His own blood was still hot with anger and embarrassment, his chest feeling hollowed by the unwilling confession of love that he had all but thrown at the demon, and it sang through him in an almost frightening call to violence. He growled, low and thunderous, the floorboards under his feet shaking with it.  _ Come on then, _ he thought, relishing the idea of a fight.  _ If this is what you want. This is what I’m made for. _

Crowley wasted no more time, launching himself at Aziraphale with his jaws open and his claws out. Aziraphale crouched low and managed to catch the brunt of it with his shoulders, using Crowley’s momentum against him and tossing him into a bookshelf where he fell, winded. 

Wheeling around, Aziraphale readied himself for the next attack, wincing a little internally at the mess he’d just made of his precious books. Crowley scrabbled to his feet gracelessly, panting, and eyed Aziraphale warily before his next attack. His scent was everywhere, filling Aziraphale’s sensitive nostrils, fire and leaves and cold autumn air, a heady and intoxicating combination that threatened to overwhelm his senses in the confined space of the room. He licked his lips thoughtfully, and in that space of perhaps two seconds -

Crowley lunged, catching Aziraphale off-guard, and his claws raked a hot stripe of pain down his flank before he leapt away, out of reach of Aziraphale’s retribution. Aziraphale yelped in disbelief, twisting away from Crowley and whirling wide eyed to face him again with his jaws open in threat. The injury was superficial, little more than a graze.  _ He could have done a lot more than that,  _ he thought in confusion.

Crowley all but grinned at him, tongue lolling from his mouth, and Aziraphale realised with sudden relief that this fight was not to the death. This was nothing more than - an argument turned physical, for want of a better phrase. Like a - a fist fight.  _ That, _ he could enjoy. He pinned his ears back, growling, and made a feint to the left before plunging forward with claws outstretched. Crowley spotted the bluff just a moment too late, Aziraphale crashing into him and knocking him to the ground in a tangle of snarling, biting fur. They scrabbled at each other with claws savagely outstretched, snapping and kicking and trying to get the advantage. Though Aziraphale was bigger, Crowley’s lean, wiry strength allowed an agility that Aziraphale couldn’t quite understand how to counteract, seeming to twist and turn in impossible ways to avoid being pinned down by Aziraphale’s jaws, always one move ahead of him.  _ Am I that obvious _ ? Aziraphale wondered several times as Crowley avoided yet another clash of teeth above his throat. Finally sheer frustration won out, Aziraphale utilising his simple brute strength to pin Crowley down, straddling his hips and gripping tight around his wrists. He snarled down at him with his teeth inches from Crowley’s throat, panting and trying to catch his breath in this brief respite from their fight.

Crowley looked up at him with laughing yellow eyes, and  _ wriggled _ his hips upwards, and Aziraphale felt the hot, hard length of Crowley’s cock pressing against his stomach. He breathed in, nostrils flaring, and  _ God _ , he was going to Hell for sure, but that scent made his mouth water, his own cock responding instantly. He whined, a noise he hadn’t even known he could make, shifting his position on Crowley to allow their cocks to align, desperate for relief, for friction, mindless and unselfconscious in the blind search for pleasure. 

His brain only caught up a few moments after he had begun rutting against Crowley, after the hot spiral of pleasure had already begun to uncurl inside him. His hips stuttered, then stopped, Aziraphale blinking down at Crowley in sudden panic at having been so completely wanton. He knew what he wanted - all he could smell was Crowley’s arousal and his own answering musky scent, all he could feel was the delicious slick slide of their cocks together, his focus narrowed down to a single pinpoint of desire - but he  _ shouldn’t _ want it. He had managed for six thousand years; had held himself in check with every new revelation about his feelings for Crowley, had held Crowley at arm’s length to protect them both. He could hardly allow himself to give in now, could he?

Though - wouldn’t  _ now _ , where he couldn’t speak, couldn’t mess this up with stammering words and useless chatter, be the best time to? He could pass it all off as a simple primal instinct of the creature and nothing else needed to be said about it afterwards, after all -

His conflicting, labyrinthine thoughts were cut off by a clearly impatient Crowley flipping them easily, twisting Aziraphale’s body so that he was stomach down on the floorboards, Crowley’s heavy weight above him. He could feel the snarling breath next to his ear and his heart raced at being so very vulnerable even though it was  _ Crowley _ and he would never (really) hurt him. He both wished he could say so, and was glad that he could not, scrabbling at the ground and whining low in his throat at the feel of Crowley’s cock pushing against him insistently. His mind could only babble nonsense, an endless litany of  _ Crowley, fuck, oh God, _ blasphemy that he couldn’t stop if he tried. His own cock was excruciatingly, embarrassingly hard and aching, precum pooling onto the floor in a sticky mess beneath him. Desperate and past the point of mortification, Aziraphale pushed back against Crowley’s erection, every single atom of his being held in thrall to this absolutely new and exquisite pleasure. 

Aziraphale did  _ so _ enjoy pleasure; had sought it in countless ways over the centuries - food and wine and dance and comfortable sensations, anything that took his fancy. But the thought of this - of anything  _ like _ this - had seemed somehow wrong with a human, not to mention the very real danger of losing control and using too much of his supernatural strength. He could never forgive himself for hurting them.

And, though he had tried to pretend it wasn’t even a factor, the truth was that he had only really ever been able to look at Crowley in that way.

Crowley shifted a little, downwards, and Aziraphale couldn’t  _ imagine _ what it was he was doing until he felt something hot and wet and thoroughly obscene licking at his opening. 

_ His tongue?? _

Aziraphale felt almost faint with both absolute horror-struck embarrassment and sudden, lung-crushing arousal as Crowley’s tongue lapped at him insistently, circling his entrance and then pushing inside just enough to make Aziraphale whine and choke back a growling sob. He felt as though he were coming undone from the inside, Crowley’s clever, wicked tongue more dexterous than it had any right to be in this body, and so  _ big, _ sloppy and terribly canine and with the sharp threat of pointed teeth ever present. He couldn’t help but cry out, a harsh yelping groan, as Crowley slipped his tongue deep inside him, his back arching helplessly as Crowley fucked him open thoroughly, his sticky, viscous saliva dripping down to the floor between his thighs with a wet splatter. It was too much and not enough and Aziraphale was almost crying with need -

_Please, Crowley, please, just__ -_ _oh, Lord I am sorry, please forgive me - but Crowley, please _**_fuck_**_ me -_

He bucked his hips impatiently, earning an amused huff of breath from Crowley who clamped his hands down onto Aziraphale’s thighs, pinning him to the ground effectively. Aziraphale writhed in renewed arousal and desperation, absolutely unable to care about anything other than Crowley’s tongue inside him and his own painfully hard erection. 

Finally, Crowley seemed satisfied, pulling away and leaving Aziraphale keening at the loss of sensation as he pushed Aziraphale’s knees apart and settled himself between them. Aziraphale felt his lean weight return to his back, moulding itself to the curve of his spine, and then, before he had time to overthink it, Crowley’s slick cock was inside him, hot and thick and so, so much more than he could possibly take, surely. He whimpered wretchedly as Crowley buried himself completely inside him, concentrating on breathing and relaxing and trying to adjust to the burning, stretching  _ ache _ of him, this new and invasive glut of sensation that he could barely comprehend.

He became aware of Crowley’s ragged breathing at his neck, frantic and urgent  _ need _ bleeding out of every inch of him, and finally, with a steadying exhale, Aziraphale shifted his hips minutely, pushing back against Crowley. It was all the permission he needed, and he pulled almost all the way out, a slow, heated drag of pleasure that made Aziraphale’s vision go hazy at the edges for a moment, before slamming back in with savage abandon, starting a brutal pace that had Aziraphale howling and snarling and raking more of the floorboards apart with his claws, lost to the sensation of being filled so completely by the only other being in the Universe who could possibly match him strength for strength. Crowley closed his deadly jaws over the back of Aziraphale’s neck, biting down roughly enough to indicate very clearly that he saw Aziraphale as  _ mate _ , as his alone to claim, and the very thought of it made Aziraphale’s neglected cock leak all the more. The air was thick with their scents; earth and fire and storm-cloud skies laden with heady, musky arousal. 

Aziraphale had never felt anything like it - he was so amazingly  _ full,  _ every nerve ending alive with thrumming, electric life, his whole body taut like a bowstring. He surely couldn’t take any more, could barely breathe through the pleasure, let alone  _ think _ . His entire Universe had become the searing, glorious heat of the cock inside him, the relentless rhythm of Crowley’s hips, and the maddening, barely-there friction of his own throbbing erection between his stomach and the floor. 

Crowley’s grip on his neck suddenly loosened, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he shifted, pulling Aziraphale back with him so that he was on all fours. Aziraphale whined at the sudden loss of what little friction he had but Crowley just snarled, pushing somehow impossibly deeper into him and knocking the breath from Aziraphale’s lungs as he fucked him with renewed savagery.  _ He’s close, _ Aziraphale thought in sudden, thrilling realisation, flicking his ears back to listen to Crowley’s laboured panting, staccato and harsh.  _ Is he going to - oh - please - _

Crowley reached around blindly, wrapping his clawed hand around Aziraphale’s aching cock, slick and sticky with precum, and Aziraphale could have wept for relief at the delicious, overdue pressure, bucking his hips into Crowley’s fist like an animal, mindlessly seeking release. Crowley licked at his ear approvingly, then dug his teeth into Aziraphale’s shoulder and held him still with the threat of a true bite as he fucked him mercilessly to his own climax, coming inside him with a choked-off howl. Aziraphale was delirious, half-blind with spiralling pleasure, his claws splintering the wood beneath him as Crowley worked his hand on his cock roughly. And then suddenly there was  _ more _ , the base of Crowley’s cock swelling, knotting inside him, and it was so much, Aziraphale so deliciously, achingly  _ full _ that he simply couldn’t hold back any longer, spilling hot come across Crowley’s fingers, his own stomach, even splattering the wreck of the floorboards, white-hot, blinding ecstasy pounding through him, thundering like his pulse and leaving him shaking and exhausted in its wake. He slid to the floor gracelessly, Crowley still held deep inside him, his weight comforting and familiar on his back. 

After a few minutes, of course, that position was painful; Crowley dozing and seemingly heavier with each passing second, Aziraphale’s arm trapped under him awkwardly. 

He twisted his head to nip at Crowley’s ear, and Crowley’s hell-fire eyes opened blearily, tongue flicking out to lick over his muzzle, before he seemed to understand and pulled them both onto their sides. His knot was still trapping them together, and Aziraphale knew from his own, obviously merely academic, experimentations with himself that it would likely be some time before it would deflate and they could pull apart successfully. Crowley was asleep again within seconds, his arms wrapped around Aziraphale, his breath ruffling the fur behind Aziraphale’s ears in a way which should have been distracting but was, strangely, almost heart-wrenchingly sweet. Aziraphale closed his eyes and tried very hard not to think about how he was going to explain this to God if She found out, a pit of fear already forming in his stomach at the idea.


	7. Chapter 7

  
  


Aziraphale awoke first; he rarely slept and when he did, it was only lightly. He was still in wolf form; absently, he found his amulet with stiff fingers and returned to his usual body, taking a moment to use a miracle to rid himself of - oh  _ God,  _ all of that mess - before turning to look at Crowley. The demon was curled on the floor, back into his more human-shaped body but naked, and Aziraphale took a guilty moment to really  _ look _ at him in a way he had never been able to; the open vulnerability of his sleeping expression, the sharp angles and pale skin of him, cut from starlight itself it seemed to Aziraphale, blindingly beautiful. He wondered for a moment if he should find a blanket to cover him, but Crowley began to stir before he could put the thought into action. 

“Mnnnrgh,” Crowley groaned, opening his eyes in painful, bleary blinks. Aziraphale averted his gaze quickly, clearing his throat and looking instead in despairing and almost physical misery at the shredded, splintered mess he’d made of his antique oak floorboards. He could miracle them repaired, of course, but he would  _ know. _

Crowley sat up, joints clicking in creaking protest, and scrubbed a hand through his hair in silence. Aziraphale heard him take in three deep, shuddering lungfuls of air, letting each one out carefully, and he realised with some shame that it must  _ hurt _ Crowley even after he had returned to his own body, the aftermath of all of those bones cracking and muscles stretching etched into him every time. He thought of his own transformation, moments ago; no more difficult than shrugging off a heavy coat - slightly uncomfortable at the time, but a relief and nothing more afterwards. He remembered that he had complained about the discomfort of his own shift, how he had wondered why She did it. Who would ever do this to another living being? Who could be so unspeakably cruel as to condemn anyone - he would have said  _ even a demon _ , but Crowley was a demon and there was nothing “even” about him, he was no less than Aziraphale was - to this kind of pain, every single time? Aziraphale still recalled his first physical sensation, as if he could ever forget; it still made him cringe to think of the sheer unexpected shock of pain as She made him into a Gifted. To live that, every time? Unimaginable.

There was a click from beside him, and the floorboards stitched themselves together, splinters flicking back into place, deep grooves smoothing themselves out one by one until his precious oak was whole and shining once again. He turned to Crowley, beaming. 

“Oh,  _ thank you _ .”

Crowley shrugged, smiling in that slightly embarrassed but rather pleased way he did whenever Aziraphale thanked him for something. He clicked his fingers again and his clothes reappeared. Aziraphale tried not to look too disappointed. Together, they stood, both of them groaning under their breath and avoiding eye contact. 

“Well,” Aziraphale said, too brightly. 

“Well.”

“Would you like some breakfast?”

Crowley laughed, sudden and deep and throaty, clutching at his chest where his ribs still ached. 

“What’s the joke?”

“You, angel. Always you.”

“I don’t understand, did I do something wrong -”

“No. No, you didn’t. It’s just -” he gestured expansively around them, at the mess of books on the floor, the ripped cushions, the overturned lamps. “It’s just so like you to make breakfast right now.”

“Well, I - ah, exercise makes me hungry,” Aziraphale explained, face burning at the memory of the  _ exercise _ . “And I’m always especially hungry after a transformation, you know.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling. About the only time I ever  _ am _ hungry.”

“Good! I’ve got bacon,” Aziraphale said with a delighted, tempting raise of his eyebrows. 

“We have to talk,” Crowley sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking pointedly at his shoes. “At some point. I have to tell you something.”

“I know. But...can it wait until after…?” Aziraphale asked, frowning anxiously. “I can’t think when I’m hungry.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course it can, angel. Don’t worry about it. Not important anyway. Come on. You said there was bacon?” He ushered Aziraphale into the kitchen and perched on a stool while Aziraphale pottered around making enough bacon and eggs to feed a small army. They ate in comfortable silence, Aziraphale eating not only his plateful but a third of Crowley’s as well, under Crowley’s amused and indulgent eye. Finally, after second helpings  _ and _ a carrot cake that Crowley nibbled at Aziraphale’s request, they settled themselves back into the comfort of the sofa, Crowley cleaning up the last debris of their fight with a miracle before Aziraphale even asked. 

The air between them felt different; a tension that had been there since the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t lifted slightly, a river flowing once more in the spring thaw. It took all of Aziraphale’s strength not to reach out for Crowley, wanting to feel his skin underneath human-formed fingers, wanting to touch all of those sharp lines and glorious glass-cut angles. The memory of being underneath all of that wiry strength, of being helpless and full and blinded by desire, was clamouring to be replayed in his mind, over and over, and Aziraphale wanted, - oh, he wanted so much to feel Crowley like he was now, to have him so deep inside his own body that they were one being. But  _ could  _ he want now, finally? Did he dare to ask for this, even after everything they had gone through?  _ God, will you forgive me for this when I cannot feel as though I am committing any great sin? _

“So,” Crowley said finally, licking his lips and looking studiously at his knees. “Do you remember - what you said? When I -”

“Oh. You remember that.” Aziraphale’s face burned red, jolted from his less-than innocent thoughts. 

“I - how could I ever forget that?” Crowley asked, bewildered and wide-eyed and painfully vulnerable. “Six thousand years, angel, and you think I could forget?”

“Six - thousand - it’s been that long for you?”

There was a moment where Crowley looked as though he wasn’t going to answer, eyes darting from Aziraphale to the wall to the floor, but he took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. Since the sword, more or less.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale blinked, stupidly, and wondered why he hadn’t known before. How he had misinterpreted all of those little miracles, those favours, the rescues and the lunch invitations as simple friendship. Looking back, every single thing Crowley had ever done was signposted neon-bright with love. “Oh, my dear -”

“So, yeah. I remember. You - meant it, right?”

“I did,” Aziraphale said, firmly, though his heart thudded rabbit-fast to be saying it. 

_ This _ was his place in Creation, surely - he had wondered and worried about it since the Apocalypse, had fretted constantly about what it meant for him as an angel, as a being of ethereal power, and as a Gifted - did he still have to hunt Cursed? Was he expected, still, to be a warrior for God? Or was his role finished now that he had broken from his leash and turned against Heaven itself? All of these questions still crowded in on him, but he had at least one constant answer.  _ Crowley _ . Crowley who had never left him, never deserted him even when he should have. Surely - if he still had a purpose - loving Crowley was it. And perhaps it was in Her plan after all, to bridge the chasm between Heaven and Hell with the purest of emotions; love.

“Right,” Crowley nodded. “Right. Good. Cool.” He teetered on the edge of saying something, mouth half open and throat working, and Aziraphale waited in patient silence as he had done so often when Crowley was working himself up over something he needed to get out. He wondered how it would feel, to hear  _ I love you _ from him; would it send an electric thrill through him like in the romance books he had guiltily read? Would something slot into place inside his heart? Or would it be more subtle, like coming home out of the rain?

“God did it,” Crowley blurted out, and for a moment Aziraphale heard only the words he had been expecting, a small smile ready to slide over his face. But then, when nothing more was forthcoming, he blinked, a frown creasing his forehead as he took in what Crowley had actually said.

“Pardon?”

“God. It was her. She made me. She made all of the Cursed.”


	8. Chapter 8

The bottom fell out of Aziraphale’s universe in one nauseating moment, leaving him breathless and wounded. He struggled for air in silence, fingers twitching convulsively in the fabric of his trousers, ears ringing. How could this be?  _ You wouldn’t do this. You couldn’t. I can’t believe that you would - _

But Crowley had never lied to him- had been brutally, painfully honest rather than ever deceive him. It had to be the truth.

He pushed his head into his hands.  _ Why? Why would you do this? Help me understand, Lord. I know You are good, you must be good, there must be a reason for it all.  _ But there was no answer from God, no sign or miracle or revelation from Heaven; just the ticking of the clock, his own racing pulse, and Crowley’s quiet breathing. 

Crowley waited impassively for him, lips a thin line, fingertips drumming on his thigh and a terrible, haunted look on his face. 

“Why?” Aziraphale asked finally, voice shaky, tears blurring his vision. He felt like he barely knew who he was anymore; that he had been ripped from the fabric of reality and tossed into a new world that made no sense, adrift and alone. 

No, not alone. He reached out for Crowley and found his hand right there, strong fingers curling around his own, warm and safe and real. It had always been there. He knew that, now. If he had only reached out earlier.

Crowley shrugged with his whole body. “Punishment,” he said simply. “Falling wasn’t enough, apparently.”

“She Cursed you  _ all? _ ”

“Every angel that Fell in the first war. Not the ones after.”

“But we were told that - that  _ Hell _ invented the Curse. That you spread it among yourselves as a weapon against Heaven. That you wanted to destroy Earth and everything on it.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, gently, oh so gently, reaching his free hand out to touch Aziraphale’s tear-streaked cheek. “I’m sorry. I really am sorry. I know this is hard -”

“It can’t be, Crowley. It  _ can’t _ be true. She couldn’t do that to -”

“She did. She lied to you. To all of Heaven.”

“No, to  _ you,  _ Crowley! I can’t believe She would hurt you like that.”

“Oh.” Crowley looked like he was about to cry. 

“The first thing I ever felt, Crowley, was pain. And you - every time you - it must feel like that. Over and over.”

“It does.”

“But,” Aziraphale asked plaintively, “why? Why did She make you like that? Why did She tell us it was a curse? And - and that you didn’t feel, didn’t  _ love, _ couldn’t be - whole - and -” Aziraphale was hiccuping out little sobs between words, trying to hold it together but seeing every single demon he had hunted - that he had _ murdered _ . “I thought you were all monsters for so  _ long. _ I thought that I was doing  _ good _ . That I had a purpose, that I was chosen for something greater than myself, and all along it was just - murder of Her own design. Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. So that you would wipe us out for Her, scourge us from the Universe and with it, Her failure. Do your Heavenly duty without question. Give humanity something they could fear about the afterlife, something they could strive to not become. So that She didn’t have to have more blood on Her hands. Pick one, angel.” His tone was bitter but the hand in Aziraphale’s own was gentle. “I know about as much as you.”

Aziraphale thought quietly for a moment. Crowley let him, sitting in careful silence with their thighs touching. 

“None of you deserved that,” Aziraphale said, finally, as though he had gone through every possible scenario in his head and had exhausted any other possibility. “There’s nothing that deserves that.”

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

“I think I am.”  _ Blasphemy, or heresy, or something. This has to be a sin, Lord, but I don’t - I don’t  _ ** _care! _ ** _ This is wrong. You lied to me, to all of us. You had me murder in your name. I trusted you! _ “Crowley, I’m about to say something, and I think I might perhaps need a drink.”

Crowley miracled a bottle of merlot into one hand and two glasses into the other. “Go on.” He poured carelessly, handing one of the glasses to Aziraphale, who took a long swallow, clutching at the stem like a drowning man. 

“I think,” Aziraphale started, going pale and trembling, “that - God was wrong.”

Crowley bit back the sarcastic  _ yes, obviously _ that rose immediately to his tongue. For Aziraphale, this was tantamount to actual rebellion.

“I think,” he continued, and he looked at Crowley with wild eyes full of holy blue fire, jaw clenched, “that we should put a stop to it.”

The air around them went still as though Crowley had stopped time again, dust motes hanging in the lamplight unmoving. Aziraphale’s chest was heaving a little, the effort of voicing this dissent clearly weighing heavy on him. Crowley took it from him as he always did, took the decision and the treason and plucked them out of Aziraphale into his own care. 

“We should do something,” he said graciously, an agreement without agreeing. Aziraphale visibly slumped, smiling a little, wan smile in gratitude and downing the rest of his wine. 

“What do you suggest?” he asked, breathing easier now that it was out of his hands. 

Crowley leaned back against the comforting expanse of the sofa, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he considered. 

_ He didn’t say it. He can’t say it, perhaps. Or did I just read him wrong? Did he mean something else when he said it had been six thousand years for him? What if - _

“We have three options, way I see it,” Crowley said thoughtfully, interrupting Aziraphale’s inner panic. “We can go after a cure for those that want it in Hell.” He ticked it off on his fingers as he went. “Or we go through Heaven and try to reason with them to stop hunting Cursed. Or we try to fight God.” He paused. “I’m not sure I thought that last one through, to be honest.”

“Well,” Aziraphale ventured, and Crowley’s eyes widened at the stubborn defiance on his face, “perhaps we don’t need to  _ fight _ Her. Why don’t we just - talk to Her?”

“Last time, you couldn’t get through to Her, remember?”

“Last time, I didn’t have a Cursed demon beside me. I rather think that’s above the Metatron’s pay grade, don’t you?”

“You think we can just say ‘oh, excuse me, Lord, would you mind awfully undoing that whole Cursed thing? It was  _ jolly _ unfair of you and we don’t like it.’ I don’t think that would really work.”

“Crowley I do not sound like that. And - yes. Why not? Look, if we’re together, we can avert the Apocalypse -”

“We didn’t really do much.”

“- The point I am making,  _ Crowley _ , is that - well, if an angel can -” he forged ahead “ -fall in love with a Cursed, and a Cursed can love an angel, then perhaps - maybe, She would listen to us. Maybe it would  _ mean _ something to Her.”

“That’s a very big  _ maybe. _ ”

“I know, but it’s all I have. There’ll be no cure for the Curse if She did it, we’d be wasting our time looking. We can’t fight all of Heaven, just the two of us, and if you think the other angels will ever listen to anything  _ I _ have to say, let alone you, especially after that whole body switch debacle, then you are sorely mistaken. I can’t see any other way, Crowley.” His chin was trembling dangerously, his eyes too bright, and Crowley reached an arm around him, curling him in against his side gently. 

“Alright, angel. We’ll try, at least. We’ll figure something out.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered, feeling emboldened enough to actually voice it though his embarrassment at asking was toe-curling. “Will you say it?”

“Say what?” Crowley asked, stiffening beside him.

“That you - love me.”

“I told you already that I always have, Aziraphale.” But Crowley wriggled a little, uncomfortably, and Aziraphale had a moment of blinding clarity. Six thousand years, Crowley had said. Six thousand years where he couldn’t speak it out loud, where Aziraphale hadn’t been ready, where he had hidden it deep inside him and bitten it down and held it against his heart so that Aziraphale wouldn’t run, wouldn’t be scared, wouldn’t be put into a situation that he couldn’t reciprocate. Six thousand years of telling himself  _ no, don’t say it, don’t hurt him, don’t scare him _ and it was so ingrained into him, so much a part of their relationship that of course he found it hard.

“Oh. Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry,” he choked out, feeling hot tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“What for?” Crowley leaned forward, twisting to look at him, frowning. “Are you alright angel?”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t hear it, my dear. It must have been so hard for you, all that time -”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But I  _ am, _ Crowley. I am sorry! I never meant to hurt you -”

Crowley shrugged. “It’s fine. I knew you weren’t ready.”

Aziraphale licked his lips. “I am now. I’m sorry it’s been so long. If you still want to, I’m listening. I’m here.”

Crowley exhaled in a long, wretched breath, his whole body tense against Aziraphale’s, and he started to wonder if perhaps Crowley didn’t want to say it because he didn’t feel it like that any more and who could blame him, honestly, after so long, and -

“If you’re sure. I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, quietly but clearly, his whole focus on Aziraphale, those yellow eyes -  _ sunshine eyes, marigold eyes _ \- wide and honest. “Always have.”

It was nothing like Aziraphale had imagined; he had barely even scraped the surface of his possible reactions. Every nerve ending seemed to prickle, tingling with electricity, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. His heart thudded wildly, crashing against his ribs like a caged animal, terrifying and exhilarating. Every single atom of him sparked and burned with it, leaving him gasping for air and elated. 

“ _ Oh. _ ”

“Are you - is that - alright?” Crowley asked, frowning, uncertain and beautiful and  _ God, he loves me, he really loves me, is that Your plan all along?  _

“More than alright, my dearest Crowley,” Aziraphale managed to reply, somehow, through the haze of delirious sensation. “I’m sorry it took this long.”

Crowley shrugged again, a barely-there lift of his shoulders that hid a world of patience and hope and relief. 

“I would like to kiss you, if you’d allow it,” Aziraphale said. 

“If I’d allow it? Angel, we’ve just fucked all over the floor. I literally just came in you-”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale cut him off, blushing furiously. “I hardly think that’s the most romantic way to begin our relationship proper, do you?”

“I suppose you have a point. But you know you can’t just…. shrug that off like our animal halves fucking, right? If Heaven notices -”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, twisting to face him properly and leaning in. “We’re about to go and face God Herself,  _ together. _ I very much doubt Heaven isn’t going to notice.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed, almost cross-eyed as he tried to follow Aziraphale’s lips moving closer. “Yeah. Good point, you’re ab-”

Aziraphale, given that he had waited for much longer than he would ever care to admit, felt that he was a very patient being. However there was a limit to even an angel’s patience and this was most definitely it. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Crowley’s, unsure as to the exact mechanics of the thing but confident he would pick it up soon enough. Crowley, to his absolute delight,  _ melted _ into the kiss, a small, strangled noise escaping his throat. His hand came up to cup Aziraphale’s neck, thumb stroking over his jaw, and Aziraphale felt his whole body spark like lightning at the tender brush of his fingertips. 

“Much better,” he said, a little breathlessly, when he pulled away. “I think that will do very well. Of course, practice makes perfect!”

Crowley nodded vaguely, looking a little as though he’d been hit in the head with a shovel.

“Crowley.”

“Yes. Absolutely. Whatever you say.”

“Pull yourself together, dear, and help me make this summoning circle. We have work to do.”


	9. Chapter 9

Oddly enough, the Metatron was less than thrilled to be summoned by Aziraphale again.

“I have told you once before, Aziraphale. I am the highest authority you may speak to.”

“Yes, of course, I understand that,” Aziraphale said, flustered. He was folding his hands into each other in that nervous way he had, Crowley noticed. Maybe it was time to play the big bad Demon.

“Oi!” Crowley snarled, chin tilted up, teeth bared. “I want to speak to you, God. You hear me?  _ I want to speak to you!  _ I know you can hear me.”

“Do not address the Lord, demon,” the Metatron spluttered, outraged. “Abominations have no right to call upon that which they have forsaken.”

“Oh right, because I had such a lot of choice in that matter. Put. Me.  _ Through.” _

The Metatron fell silent, eyes turned upwards. Finally, defeated, they sighed. “The way is open. The Lord has agreed to speak to you, Aziraphale. And you as well,  _ demon _ . Your mortal bodies will remain safe here until your return.”

“Name’s Crowley,” Crowley sniffed.

The Metatron disappeared, leaving behind a shaft of pure light.

“Uh, just a quick question, Angel.”

“Yes?”

“Will I - oh, I don’t know - turn into crispy bacon if I go in there?”

“I shouldn’t think so, if the Lord has agreed to it,” Aziraphale replied, but his eyes flicked to the portal in ill-concealed worry.

“Oh well,” Crowley shrugged, mouth dry. “I won’t know till I try it.”

They stepped into the portal together, neither willing to leave the other behind in case it was somehow a trick.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered urgently as they emerged into a sterile, white room. “Your body-”

“You’re a wolf,” Crowley replied. “But I can understand you! Wait - me too?”

They stared at each other, Aziraphale’s white-blond fur glowing with shining health, Crowley stark and glossy-black against the dazzling white of the walls and floor. 

“How can I understand you?”

“Your mouth isn’t moving,” Aziraphale replied. “I think it’s intent - or telepathic.”

_ CORRECT. _

They both jumped, turning as one to face a light that was unlike anything on Earth; pervasive and warm and softly pulsing at the edges, washing over them both and leaving an all-consuming wave of calming, peaceful euphoria. Automatically, Crowley cringed from it for a moment before he realised that it didn’t hurt. Beside him, Aziraphale visibly relaxed. Crowley could only hope that he would be able to fight the heady feeling of happiness long enough to remember why they were there.

_ AZIRAPHALE, MY SON. _

Aziraphale’s tail wagged, just a twitch, and Crowley nudged his side with one claw.

“Lord,” he said, voice - or thoughts, or whatever it was - straining to remain neutral. 

_ CROWLEY. _

“I’m technically your son too,” Crowley dared bitterly. Aziraphale shot him an alarmed look but Crowley shrugged. He wasn’t here to mince his words.

_ YOU WANTED TO SPEAK TO ME. _

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “That is, what I mean to say is, we wanted to ask you something.”

Crowley rolled his shoulders, widening his stance a little. Aziraphale took in a deep breath, fighting the peace that wanted to crowd in on his thoughts, to make him placid and calm and pliant. 

_ Pliant. _ That was it, wasn’t it? He had been kept pliant, kept under control, had been fed lies and half-truths and weak, useless platitudes and he had believed them all, had believed them so blindly that he had thought that even  _ Crowley _ , his Crowley, his beautiful, loving, gentle, patient friend - could be less than whole, could be a mindless, savage beast. He steeled himself, feeling his lips curl in a silent and unwanted snarl. 

“Why did you do it?” he asked, and it came out plaintive and small, not how he had imagined it at all. 

He felt Crowley holding his breath beside him, tension radiating from him in waves. 

_ DO WHAT? _

“Don’t pretend you don’t know why we’re here,” Crowley said explosively, baring his teeth and then struggling painfully to regain control. “You’re the Almighty, you know everything! Answer him.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale warned under his breath. “Be careful.”

“No! I’ve - I’ve had it -” Crowley raged. “I’ve been like this since - almost as long as I can remember, and why? What did I do that was  _ so _ terrible that I deserved to be made into this monster? What did any of us do except - question you? And honestly, if this is the punishment you mete out for the simple act of a  _ question _ then in my opinion we were right to do it! If one moment of doubt can be enough to be given an eternity of torture then I’m  _ glad _ I fell. I’m  _ glad _ I don’t have to obey you. And - And  _ Aziraphale. _ Look at him! You made him a soldier and then you made him a - a  _ pet _ \- a guard dog to get rid of the evidence, of all of your -  _ evil _ ! Yours! You did this to us, you used him as if he was nothing but a tool, and you have the -  _ audacity _ \- to actually claim to be good?”

He deflated, out of words, and glanced worriedly at Aziraphale in silent apology, hoping his rant hadn’t gotten his angel into even deeper trouble.

_ ARE YOU FINISHED? _

“...yeah. Yeah, I’m done.”

Aziraphale reached across and took Crowley’s huge clawed hand in his own, squeezing reassuringly. “Lord,” Aziraphale said with more confidence than he felt. “Do you have an answer? Please?”

_ NO. _

“No?  _ No?  _ You can’t just- you’re the -” Crowley spluttered wildly. 

_ I DO NOT HAVE AN ANSWER THAT WOULD SATISFY YOU, MY CHILDREN. _

“Oh, so now I’m one of your children.”

“Be quiet,” Aziraphale hissed.

“Then give us the answer we  _ don’t want _ ,” Crowley said. “Then you can - smite us, or wipe our memories, or whatever you want to do. But we deserve to hear it.”

_ I WAS ANGRY AT BEING DEFIED BY MY OWN CHILDREN. I ACTED RASHLY, KNOWING THE CONSEQUENCES WOULD BE UNDESIRABLE AND DISREGARDING THEM ANYWAY.  _

_ WHEN I REALISED THAT THE DEMONS I HAD CURSED WERE DESTROYING EARTH, DESTROYING MY NEW CREATIONS, OUT OF CONTROL AND MINDLESS, I KNEW I COULD NOT BE SEEN BY MY ANGELS TO HAVE MADE A MISTAKE - THAT WOULD HAVE SIMPLY CAUSED ANOTHER REBELLION. I COULD NOT MERELY DESTROY THE DEMONS MYSELF, THEREFORE, OR TO ADMIT TO HAVING CAUSED THIS GRIEF ON THE NEW WORLD, AND SO, I CREATED A STORY, A PURPOSE FOR THEM; AND IN DOING SO, A GIFT FOR MY OBEDIENT CHILDREN. AN HONOUR, TO BE BESTOWED CAREFULLY. AND A WAY TO RID THE EARTH OF MY ERROR OF JUDGEMENT. _

“You shifted the blame onto us,” Crowley said numbly. “Made even us believe that there was a secret source of the Curse, some way to replicate it. Some way in which it was a choice. You made us forget how it happened, driving us all to madness one way or another.”

“And - I  _ killed _ so many,” Aziraphale whispered with mounting horror, feeling his claws covered in blood and the oily-copper taste of it at the back of his throat. “I thought - I thought we were good. But we were just puppets. All of us. You did this. You drove them to become mindless animals, and had us hunt them for sport. But, Lord, you’re-” he took a breath - “wrong. They’re not all out of control. Crowley isn’t. Crowley can  _ stop _ himself, and that means that the others could too, if they knew - if they remembered.”

_ YES. _

There was deep contemplation in that single word, and Aziraphale decided to push the advantage. “I love him, Lord. He is a demon, and he is Cursed, and he is a  _ good man _ . He is everything -  _ everything _ that you told me demons could never be. He loves, and he is whole, and he is worth more than any other soul I have encountered in six thousand years. He learned to control himself  _ for me _ and - and he did that even knowing I was a hunter, knowing that if I knew he was Cursed I might destroy him. He is  _ not _ mindless, or broken, or savage, and - and I think, maybe, if you gave the demons a choice - maybe they would choose to be the same. Maybe, if you - helped them - they could be better. Like Crowley.”

“Look, not all demons would want to be better, angel,” Crowley said carefully. “Some demons - Cursed or not - are just perfectly happy causing mischief.”

“But they should have the  _ choice,  _ Crowley!” he said hotly. “They don’t even know how this happened! They just - they have no choice, no free will, no  _ reason _ to fight the bestial nature of the Curse. Maybe some would - and - do you know what, I’m not entirely sure I care that some wouldn’t. That should be their decision. Like loving you is mine.” He nodded emphatically, reaching to smooth down a waistcoat that wasn’t there.

_ DEMON CROWLEY. WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY? _

“I don’t know if you’re just taking the piss, but fine.” Crowley shrugged, glancing over to Aziraphale briefly with a brief, sharp-toothed grin. He was still reeling from Aziraphale’s words - light-headed and a little bit panic-stricken, if he was honest. To hear it out loud - well, sort of - like that? To hear everything Aziraphale thought of him, in front of  _ God _ Herself? It was more than his heart could bear. He was grateful that their mortal bodies were still on Earth - as it was, he could feel the ghost of his heartbeat, scatter-shot against his ribs where it should be beating too fast, and a coil of nerves in his gut that couldn’t be real but felt it. He was definitely glad he couldn’t be sick, considering what he was about to confess. 

“I love him, too,” he managed to force out, ducking his great sleek head a little in embarrassment. “He’s - well, you know him. He’s kind, and clever, and generous, and stronger than he knows. He thinks of the little things, you know? Like - blankets and biscuits and making sure my favourite wine is ready to pour when I see him. Stupid stuff, really, not important, but -” this was coming out all wrong; he was babbling again, could see the concern and disappointment in Aziraphale’s eyes. He had sudden, wild panic that this was all a setup - that God was going to think up some new and unusual punishment for Aziraphale for even daring to ask, for daring to be here at all -

“He’s the best person I know, and I loved him from the moment I first saw him,” he said, firmly, lifting his chin. “And he doesn’t deserve to be used like this. So, if you won’t fix it - us, I mean, the demons - then, please, will you let him go? Don’t punish  _ him _ for being here. I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever it is. It was my fault anyway, I talked him into it.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with a note of panic creeping into his own voice as the same realisation hit him. “That’s not necessary. I can take any punishment perfectly well and you will not try to stop me -”

“Angel -”

“And Lord, please let him go. Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to protect me but he didn’t talk me into anything. In fact, it was my idea all along! I deserve whatever punishment you see fit to give me, but -”

“ _ Aziraphale, don’t -” _

_ ENOUGH. BOTH OF YOU. I HAVE MADE A DECISION. _


End file.
